


Can't Miss

by deliciously_devient



Series: Death's Best Man [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dragons, Eventual Smut, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, Trans Hanzo Shimada, only a little tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: If he's being honest, McCree is terrified of himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From here on out it's gonna be McHanzo, guys and gals and everyone in between! A bit of background reaper76, but that might get it's own fic so keep an eye out if you like it.

Time flows, and suddenly, years have gone by. Genji has never defined their relationship, and as time goes by, they don’t fall into bed as often. Jesse loves the cyborg dearly, but there is so much anger in him, bubbling under the surface and making him volatile. Jesse knows, somehow, that he is not the person right for Genji, and Genji is not the person for him, but he treasures the time they spent together.

 

“I am leaving,” Genji says one night, in the quiet of the moon, the two of them squirreled away on the base at Watchpoint: Cairo, and while Jesse isn’t surprised, he is sad.

 

“I figured as much,” he says, staring up at the stars and taking a long drag from his cigarillo. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout leaving too. Somethin’ evil hanging in the wings here, corruptin’ everything.”

 

Some of the tension in Genji’s shoulders leaves; he was expecting a poor reaction, Jesse thinks. Jesse understands why he wants to leave; there’s a creeping evil in the ranks of Blackwatch. Ops going on without Reyes’ go ahead, agents killing other agents, assassinations, torture, all things that aren’t in the Blackwatch handbook but are still going on when they shouldn’t be. Jesse’s been planning on going back to where he came from; it’s been years since he’s visited that crossroads outside of Santa Fe.

 

“Where will you go?” Genji asks softly, and his voice is hesitant, something vulnerable.

 

“Been thinkin’ about going back home,” Jesse replies, just as soft. This conversation already feels like a goodbye, and his heart aches for it.

 

“Ah,” Genji murmurs, and there is silence as they lean against each other, taking in one another’s warmth for what is probably the last time. “I was thinking of traveling to Nepal, to visit the Shambali.”

 

“I reckon that might be good for you,” Jesse murmurs back. “Be around people who aren’t so judgemental.”

 

Genji touches Jesse’s shoulder, and the cowboy turns to look at his scarred face, beautiful in the moonlight.

 

“We will meet again one day, won’t we?” he asks, barely a whisper, his forehead pressed against Jesse’s. 

 

Jesse closes his eyes, breathing deeply and savoring the contact. “I reckon we will,” he said softly.

 

Neither of them slept that night, watching the dark of the night bleed into the day, silent, enjoying each other’s company. By nightfall that day, Genji was gone.

 

***

 

Jesse hands Gabe his resignation papers with a soft plea.

 

“Come with me,  _ jefe _ ,” he pleads softly, looking into Gabriel’s dark eyes, seeing the deep pain there, the fatigue that goes further than bone deep. The eldritch monster that only occassionally peaked out from dark places near Gabe now hovers over his shoulder constantly, with too many eyes and mouths, surprisingly gentle when it caresses Jesse when he wanders too close.

 

“There’s nothing left here for you. Fuck, you’ve been fighting for more than half your life! You deserve to retire,” he said desperately, his gut already telling him that his commanding officer -the only man who’d given a shit about him in years- was going to refuse.

 

“I can’t,  _ mijo, _ ” Gabriel said, and his voice was tired, resigned, like the slump of his shoulders and the dullness in his eyes. “Jack will never agree to retire, and I can’t leave this mess without him.”

 

Jesse ducks his head, sighing, though he knew the answer before he even asked. Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes had been friends since before Jesse was born, watching each others backs before the gunslinger was old enough to walk. There was a tangled mesh of things connecting them, and even at each other’s throats constantly, they were still loyal to a fault.

 

Jesse touches Gabriel’s shoulder gently, and swallows hard. He whistles softly, and Shiva, now a whole head taller than Jesse, but still in the shape of a derpy golden retriever, trots up and plops down. His eyes are brown, and Gabriel jumps as the dog suddenly  _ appears,  _ and Jesse keeps a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

“This is Shiva,” Jesse murmurs. “He’s pulled my ass outta the fire more times than I care to count, and I want you to keep an eye on him for me, yeah?”

 

Gabriel looked at the massive hellhound, who boofed quietly before fading out of Gabriel’s vision, eyes burning blue, and then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Jesse as though trying to puzzle him out.

 

“What do you  _ see,  _ huh, cowboy?” he asks, and Jesse’s eyes flicker to the eldritch monster floating serenely over Gabriel’s shoulder and back.

 

“More than I want to,” Jesse replied, before tipping his hat and leaving the office for the last time.

 

***

It’s not long after Jesse leaves that everything goes to shit. He’s halfway across the world when he finds out that Zurich went up in flames, and that his mentor, the only man who had acted like a father to him, is dead, along with the strike commander who gave out spongebob bandaids to his agents and thought salt was a spice.

 

He gets drunk. He takes a bottle of the cheapest tequila he can find, rides his bike out to a crossroads -not the same one, he doesn’t think he can ever go back there- and drinks until the stars are fuzzy and the moon is a blur.

 

“I can’t bring them back, whoever they are,” Death murmurs quietly, and Jesse doesn’t jump, mostly because he’s too fucking plastered to move.

 

“Wasn’t gonna ask,” he slurs, slumping against the tire of the van he’d rented. Death sits down beside him, leaning beside Jesse, snatching his tequila up and taking a sip.

 

“You’re a strange man, Jesse McCree,” Death says quietly, and Jesse snorts.

 

“Suppose I am,” he replies, taking his bottle back, chugging a healthy amount.

 

They sit in silence, under the stars, and Jesse wonders why Death keeps showing up when he comes. He doesn’t think he’s that interesting of a person, and Death certainly doesn’t owe him a thing.

 

“You’ve got a long life ahead of you, Jesse,” Death says after a long moment, his hand briefly touching Jesse’s metal hand. There’s a zing of electricity, and as he watches, the form of a skull imprints itself on the back of his hand. “I didn’t know it when I gave you your sight, but you’ve become something...different than you were before. A messenger, of sorts, for your world.”

 

Jesse shakes his head, takes another drink, closes his eyes.

 

He wakes to the burning sun, with a pounding headache, and the skull on his metal hand grinning at him. He doesn’t remember the night before, but he feels different. He thinks back onto the night Abbadon possessed him, how after he felt less human, removed from his body in a way that he couldn’t explain.

 

He doesn’t feel very human at all anymore.

 

***

 

It takes him almost a year, but he figures out that over the years, his ability to never miss has morphed into something more deadly, and now, creatures that would have otherwise eaten him whole when he was fifteen and stupid, now quickly go in the opposite direction of him.

 

It isn’t until he shoots eight harpies out of the sky that he realizes that what he can do defies the very fabric of reality.

 

He spins the barrel of his gun out and counts; six chambers, for six bullets. He counts the bodies of the harpies again. Eight, broken and still, with bullets squarely between each set of eyes. One of them had had its back turned; the entry wound was still in her forehead.

 

Jesse swallows hard as he surveys the bodies. In the distance, a young centaur watches him with wide, scared eyes. It had been the fawn that drove him to kill the harpies; they’d been tormenting the poor thing, laughing and tossing it to and fro instead of just killing it. Now, it was slowly backing away from Jesse, more fear in it’s eyes than had been there before he had shown up.

 

Jesse gives one last, mournful look at the scared fawn before turning away. McCree leaves the small clearing, continuing on his way through the forest.

 

***

 

If he’s being honest, McCree is terrified of himself. He’s learned that his power isn’t limited to just guns; any projectile works, and he finds that out when he kills a cyclops with a rock no bigger than a quarter, a clean headshot from fifty feet away. It even extends to his  _ fists,  _ he discovers, when he punches a vampire’s head clean off.

 

He travels, never staying in one place more than a few days, trying to get rid of the feeling that he’s one of the four horsemen, a blight on the world as he rides through the American southwest, gun on his hip and an eye for justice that ends in the death of the wrongdoer.

 

He wonders if what he does is right.

 

Days bleed into weeks, bleed into months, into years. He stays a week or so with a pack of wild wolves, running with them through the Colorado rockies. He visits a coven of druids in the forests of Oregon, stays with them a whole month, watching their rituals with keen eyes, and leaving with a new appreciation for tea. He worms his way in the good graces of a nest of dragons in the plains of Arizona by ridding them of an infestation of wyrms under their glimmering scales.

 

He stays with the dragons for three months, learning that they’ve been in these deserts for thousands of years, since before men came over, and he’s fascinated with how gentle they are with their young and one another. When he leaves, they give him a single tooth to remember them by; it’s as long as his arm and wickedly sharp. He promises to treasure it always.

 

He wanders deep into the Yosemite National Park, and he’s sure he’s found the land of the Fair Folk. He’s certain  _ years  _ pass, and he dances with men and women around fires at night and chases butterflies with nymphs in the day. When he finally steps into a circle of mushrooms and finds his original campsite, only an hour has passed.

 

He’s made his way down to Mexico, and is in the middle of bargaining with a herd of chupacabra and the local medicine woman to end the senseless goat slaughtering going on. The medicine woman had, apparently, accidentally stolen one of the chupacabra young, mistaking it for a rabbit. The young chupacabra is returned, thankfully before becoming stew, and the conflict is resolved.

 

The medicine woman is feeding him -a heaping bowl of  _ pozole  _ with a generous portion of tamales- when a soft ringtone he hasn’t heard in years meets his ears.

 

It’s his old Overwatch communicator, and when he’s on the road and alone again, he takes it out of his bag with trembling fingers. The video is short, and while McCree remembers Winston fondly, he’d always been buried in the labs, and McCree wasn’t sure he’d been an active combat agent.

 

Regardless, he’s made his decision before the video finishes playing.

 

***

Gibraltar is hot and windy when he arrives, walking up the semi-familiar steps to the base with a sigh. A sense of rightness overcomes him as he sets foot on the cool metal, and scans the metal with his sight, scouring out all the little places nasty supernatural things might have taken up residence. There’s a family of bowtruckles near the communication tower, and what looks like a pixie infestation near the lower labs, but otherwise it looks okay.

 

Winston greets him, along with Lena, and he finds himself genuinely smiling for the first time in years.

 

He’s home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing support! Keep commenting, it's feeding my inspiration and motivation!!
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter but I've been down on the creative side. If there's anything you want to see in the future, please, comment your ideas so I can run with them!

McCree had never been one to believe in love at first sight, or soulmates or any of that nonsense, but the moment he meets Hanzo Shimada, every cynical thought he’d ever had about love goes flying out of his head.

 

His heart thumps painfully in his chest, and he can’t seem to catch his breath as dark brown eyes meet his, his palms suddenly sweating. His ears are suddenly deaf to Genji’s introduction, and despite the two fearsome dragons poised behind Hanzo, staring him down and sneering, McCree can’t stop the swelling sensation in his chest.

 

He wipes his hand on his chaps before taking the offered one from Hanzo, thumb caressing his knuckles gently as he cups the one hand in both of his.

 

“Hanzo,” he says slowly, testing the fluidity of the name on his tongue, letting it rumble out of his chest. The entire world has faded away; there is only him, Hanzo, and this moment between them as he raises Hanzo’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss as he maintains eye contact. He feels like he’s drowning in them, the dark depths wrapping around him like a kelpie dragging him into the depths. He thinks he would go willingly, for Hanzo. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

 

Genji snorts, and Hanzo jerked, pulled out of the moment and snatching his hand back abruptly, his cheeks turning pink. He shuffles, looking for all the world as though he wants to bolt while his brother guffaws.

 

“Oh my god, anija, you should see your face! You’ve been cowboyed, oh my god!” Genji snickers, and McCree had almost forgotten what Genji had called it when he pulled out his charm to fluster some poor soul. Hanzo harrumphs grumpily, narrowing his eyes at McCree, and the gunslinger can only grin sheepishly.

 

“You did not tell me your friend was a, what’s the American word?” Hanzo says haughtily, drawing his shoulders up, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “A  _ hoe _ .”

 

Genji’s guffaws only grow in volume, and he’s clutching McCree’s shoulder as a brace, bent over and laughing so hard that McCree can hear the whir of his lungs. Jesse finds himself joining in, a full belly laugh, the kind he has not been able to produce in years.

 

“Oh, darlin’,” Jesse wheezes, turning his best charming grin on the archer and watching that shade of pink on his cheeks deepen. “I’ll be  _ your  _ hoe, if’n you want.”

 

Hanzo sputters and Genji gives up the fight with gravity, falling on the ground with a clatter. He’s reached the point where he is no longer laughing, simply wheezing softly and clutching his sides. Jesse grins at the sight, and when he glances at Hanzo, the archer is gazing at his brother with such fond sadness it makes McCree’s heart skip three beats.

 

He’s  _ fucked. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> re-posted with more trans-friendly wording! I'm so sorry if I made anyone uncomfortable, I didn't think about my wording at all and I'm deeply sorry!

They’re in Nepal when Jesse comes face to face with the mercenary Reaper for the first time.

 

Overwatch has been recalled for just three months, and while Jesse had seen several videos of Reaper fighting -especially the one where he’d attacked Gibraltar shortly before the recall- supernatural aspects of people never translated over video very well.

 

Jesse freezes when he comes face to face with Reaper, twin shotguns leveled at his face. He has ample time to throw a flashbang, fire Peacekeeper, which is gripped loosely in his right hand, to roll away and regroup with the team he’d been separated from.

 

He does none of those things, tears rushing to his eyes as his eyes let him see through the bone white owl mask to the face behind; the face behind that now has too many eyes and mouths, but is still recognizable. The face of a man he had mourned for six years, the face of a man he had begged to come with him when he left Overwatch. He isn’t quite sure, but the wolf hanging over his shoulder, smaller, now, fur patchy and flesh rotted to reveal bone in places, but still the same wolf he remembers.

 

_ “Gabriel?”  _ he chokes out, emotion thick in his voice, and he reaches out with his left hand, fingers trembling, his heart beating to fast. He’d thought, he’d mourned. He thought Death had all but confirmed it, when they spoke that night so long ago. But.

 

But.

 

Slowly, the shotguns leveled at his face lowered, and the face he saw behind the mask contorted in pain, indecision and resolve hardening that once familiar.

 

“Get going, mijo,” Gabriel said softly, voice rougher and cracked, but still recognizable to Jesse. “I’m not watching your back in this fight.”

 

“Why?” Jesse asked, voice strangled and pain, slowly lowering his hand as he realized it wouldn’t be taken by his old mentor. The one word encompassed so many questions, with so many different answers. Why was he working for Talon? Why had he kept himself silent all these years? Why had he abandoned Jesse? Why, why, why?

 

“I needed answers,” Gabriel growled, turning away. “Answers I couldn’t get with you.”

 

“And now?” Jesse demanded, fist clenching. The sounds of gunfire and the zipping noises of Lena as she blinked from place to place were getting closer. 

 

Gabriel was silent for a moment, head bowed. “I’m still looking for answers.”

 

“You can find them, with us now,” Jesse said. “It ain’t like before. It’s small; everyone here we can trust.”

 

Gabriel let out a harsh bark of laughter. “None of them will trust me. They all think I’m responsible for Zurich.”

 

“Bullshit!” Jesse shouted, angry suddenly, striding forward to grab Gabriel by the shoulder, to wring his goddamn neck until he saw reason.

 

He was gone, turned to mist, before his hand even got close.

 

***

After the encounter with Reaper, Jesse stewed. There was a nice little spot above the communications tower, a small platform below the satellite dish that had an excellent view of the entire Watchpoint. The wind was a bit fearsome, this high up, but the cold didn’t really bother Jesse anymore.

 

He watched the sunset, the light reflecting off the water and a large leviathan lazily drifting in the fading warmth of the sun, it’s long limbs breaching the surface of the water every so often. He felt cheated, somehow; he had mourned Gabriel for six years, while the other man had been out doing gods knew what trying to figure out what had caused the fall of Overwatch.

 

Like Jack had.

 

Jesse snorted as he had the thought, thinking about the vigilante who had showed up at the watchpoint with Ana, who had said he was “just an old soldier” and bitterness seeped up into his heart. While he’d always been closer to Gabriel, Jack had also been a father figure to him, and losing them both at once…

 

Well, he thought, rubbing absently at an old scar on his belly, the result of a fight he’d picked with a Wendigo, at least he’d learned that rocks were effective projectiles in a pinch.

 

“I did not think anyone else knew of this place,” came a soft voice behind him, and the only reason Jesse didn’t jump is because he’d seen Hanzo’s dragons meandering along the communications tower.

 

“S’not exactly the common room, but I been coming here since the old days,” Jesse drawled easily, relaxing minutely as Hanzo settled next to him, their feet hanging off the short platform.

 

“Forgive me, but I am surprised to see you here,” Hanzo said. “You have never struck me as the climbing type.”

 

Jesse snorted softly, smiling gently as he looked at Hanzo, noting the teasing smile on the archers lips and feeling his heart flutter just a bit.

 

“Ya gotta be limber ta run with wolves, darlin’,” he drawled, watched Hanzo tilt his head at him, those strong brows pulling together.

 

“You always say such strange things, cowboy,” Hanzo murmured, dropping his eyes to his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “Genji told me, how you two met the first time.”

 

Jesse hummed noncommittally, taking a long drag from his cigarillo. Hanzo was quiet for a while, and Jesse didn’t push, letting the man turn his question around in his head in peace.

 

“He said you could see Soba.”

“Mhm. Sure can,” Jesse agreed easily. One of Hanzo’s dragons -he wasn’t sure which, as they were identical- got in Jesse’s face, huffing at him, and Jesse very carefully did not react.

 

“Can you see…?”

 

“Your dragons?” Jesse finished. “Yep. Right menace they are, ‘specially with Soba. They like ta steal my socks.”

 

That seemed to startle a laugh out of Hanzo, and Jesse found his eyes closing, reveling in the sound and letting something of the tension in his shoulders bleed out. He was becoming increasingly comfortable in Hanzo’s company, something dark and possessive deep in his chest sated with every small touch and gentle smile he was offered.

 

“I had thought….they have not revealed themselves to me outside of battle in many years,” Hanzo said softly after a few moments of silence, something in his voice making Jesse’s heart stutter with imagined pain.

 

“They love you, deeply,” Jesse said, watching the dragons swirl around Hanzo, the bulk of them sliding through Jesse’s chest and making him close his eyes in pleasure, the warmth they brought like nothing he’d ever felt before. “It’s you, keeping them away. Your grief, and guilt. It prevents you from seeing.”

 

“And what else do you see, cowboy?” Hanzo asked quietly, changing the subject. Jesse opened his eyes, gazing out at the water, thinking on his travels and the things he’d seen.

 

“Everything,” he said after a while, smiling at Hanzo, staring into those honey colored eyes and losing a little more of himself.

 

Slowly, with deliberate movements, he leaned in, his flesh palm coming up to cup Hanzo’s cheeks with gentle, calloused hands. The archer didn’t move, his eyes locked on Jesse’s lips, and when he kissed Hanzo, he felt something  _ click  _ in his chest. This was it; the man he’d been waiting for, the final missing piece in his puzzle.

 

Hanzo made a soft noise against his lips, sounding almost pained, but when Jesse went to pull away, his hand came up to tug the cowboy’s hair and holding on tightly. Jesse eagerly returned the kiss, opening his mouth when Hanzo’s tongue lapped at the seam of his lips, groaning when he tasted the archers tongue.

 

Hanzo’s teeth nipped his bottom lip, startling a moan from Jesse’s lips, and in a moment of panic, he fell back, back hitting the edge of the platform, Hanzo suddenly in his lap, the archer sucking a very large, very obvious hickey into the flesh of his neck. Jesse’s feet were still hanging off the edge of the slim platform, and there was scarcely two inches between Hanzo’s knees and the edge, but the danger only added to the thrill of it.

“Hanzo,” Jesse groaned, hips bucking up as Hanzo ground his ass against the hardness in his pants. There was something wild in the archer’s eyes, his grin wicked as he stared down at Jesse, fingers nimble as he undid Jesse’s belt, pushing his clothing out of the way just enough to reveal his hard, aching cock. 

 

“What is the saying? ‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy?’” Hanzo purrs, and Jesse’s cock twitches in his calloused hand, his hands settling on Hanzo’s hips.

 

“Oh darlin’, you’ll be the death of me,” Jesse groans, hissing and arching as Hanzo twists his nipples over his shirt, the archer’s smirk making him want to flip them, to grind down on him and show him what he could do. But their precarious position didn’t allow for that, the breeze reminding Jesse that they were, in fact, a couple hundred feet above the ground. 

 

“I ain’t got any slick, darlin’,” Jesse lamented, and Hanzo’s smirk only grew further. 

 

“Unnecessary,” he said dismissively, wiggling his hips and fiddling with his clothing in an attempt to get his pants off. He stilled, the low hanging skirt of his shirt still covering what he had managed to uncover moments before, his eyes going curiously guarded, his thighs tensing noticeably where they were in contact with Jesse’s. “I am afraid...that we do not have the same, ah, weaponry.”

 

Jesse’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, most of his concentration centered around his cock, before realization dawned, and he smiled, wide and slow. His hands crept up Hanzo’s thighs, pulling up the shirt to reveal a neatly shaved vagina, damp with arousal, and, slowly, maintaining eye contact with Hanzo, who was gazing down at him with lidded, lust filled eyes.

 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, letting the fingers of his flesh hand tease around the fat nub at Hanzo’s center, watching the man arch and groan. “Every inch of you.”

 

Seemingly done with Jesse’s teasing, Hanzo knocked his hands away and, in one smooth, practiced motion, slid himself on the length of Jesse’s cock, making the cowboy groan and buck his hips, his feet finding no purchase in the air.

 

“Next time,” Jesse panted as he rubbed circles around the throbbing clit, watching Hanzo bite his lip, the archers hips moving faster as he took his pleasure from Jesse. “I want you to sit on my face, and let me eat you out till I can’t wring another orgasm outta your sweet body.”

 

“S-shut your filthy mouth, cowboy,” Hanzo growled, his terse tone broken by a loud, pleasured moan as Jesse slid a finger in beside his cock, searching and finding that sweet spot inside his lover.

 

“Aw, darlin’,” Jesse crooned, feeling his gut tightening with familiar heat and using his other hand to rub circles around Hanzo’s clit, trying to drive the man closer to his own orgasm. Jesse had a particular rule about making his partner come first, and he knew he wasn’t gonna last, not when he’d been waiting so long for this. “You don’t mean that, do ya? I want you to know how pretty you are bouncing on my cock.”

 

The words, more than anything, seemed to do the trick for Hanzo, and he was tightening around Jesse’s cock almost painfully, mouth opened on a silent scream as he stilled, shuddering with his orgasm. Jesse wasn’t far behind, stomach tensing and cock pulsing as he emptied himself into Hanzo, groaning long and loud.

 

Hanzo collapsed onto Jesse’s chest, panting, his hair tickling Hanzo’s nose, and Jesse loosely wrapped his arms around the other man, nuzzling his hair and closing his eyes as he enjoyed their closeness.

 

“Soon as we can move, I’m gonna cuddle you right proper in a bed,” Jesse said, voice lazy with satiation. 

 

Hanzo stilled against him, and Jesse felt his stomach drop as he thought the worst. Was this just a fling to Hanzo? Letting off some steam with a teammate he trusted? Was the archer about to break his heart?

 

It would be okay, Jesse thought vaguely, as long as they were still friends. He wasn’t sure how well he would be able to handle going back to that, after having the core of him so shaken, but he could do it as long as Hanzo didn’t cut him off completely.

 

“I...would like that, very much,” Hanzo said, meeting Jesse’s eyes shyly, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

 

Relief flooded Jesse, and he felt his mouth stretching in a wide, happy grin. “Oh, good,” he said slowly. “‘Cuz I ain’t ever lettin’ you go again.”

 

Hanzo’s answering smile was smaller, less confident, but it filled Jesse with so much hope. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut! Warning, because Hanzo is using a strap-on on Jesse. Please let me know if any corrections should be made, I don't want to make another mistake and make my trans readers uncomfortable! Sorry for the long day, I was stuck in a bit of rut. Please keep enjoying this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

The first time Jesse notices there’s something...not quite right happening with Hanzo, they were in bed together.

 

To Jesse’s delight, he’d discovered that not only was Hanzo a thoughtful lover, but also an experienced and forceful top. McCree had never thought of himself as a pillow princess, but the way Hanzo’s lips and tongue and cock (despite being silicone, it was used far more expertly than many other lovers Jesse had had before) worked him over left him clutching the bedsheets -or, one memorable time, the couch cushions in the rec room- and panting helplessly.

 

Hanzo was above him, Jesse’s legs thrown over his shoulders as he thrust in, deep, hard and rhythmic, his dark eyes focused on the man beneath him as he plowed Jesse’s ass. They’d been at it for almost an hour, Hanzo teasing and touching and generally driving Jesse up the wall, the cowboy spread out helplessly under all that lightening focus.

 

Hanzo’s thrusts were becoming shorter, faster, and Jesse knew that meant Hanzo was getting close to his edge, and that made Jesse let out a desperate, sobbing cry. His cock was hard, purple and wanting; though Hanzo had encouraged him to come, Jesse had held off, wanting to come with Hanzo despite knowing that it took far longer for his partner to reach orgasm in this way.

 

He grabbed the base of his cock, holding off until he knew for sure that Hanzo was shaking with orgasm above him, his cock eagerly spurting, painting his stomach with his release as Hanzo came with a roar.

 

An  _ actual  _ roar, Jesse noted dazedly, blinking at the too-sharp teeth in his lovers mouth, the way his eyes seemed to flash bright yellow before he stilled, eyes closing as he ground his hips into McCree’s willing body, chasing the last aftershocks of his orgasm.

 

Still drunk on pleasure, it took a few moments for what he’d seen to really sink in, and by the time he was really looking for the signs, Hanzo’s eyes were back to normal, his teeth perfectly normal as he smiled down at Jesse, kissing his nose before gently withdrawing.    
  


McCree whimpered softly as Hanzo removed his cock, and then shimmied out of the harness, tossing it on the floor to be dealt with later. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind for now, instead vying for the honor of being little spoon, curling into Hanzo and sighing contentedly.

 

“Yer somethin’ else, darlin’,” Jesse murmured, sighing and arching into the hand that stroked into his hair. Hanzo didn’t reply, instead ghosting the tip of his nose along the side of Jesse’s cheek, making the man shiver.

 

_ Scenting me,  _ Jesse thought sleepily, frowning, before succumbing to the siren’s song of slumber.

 

***

 

The next time Jesse noticed something wasn’t quite right was when he and Zenyatta were guarding a payload on a mission. Tracer and 76 were flanking, the sounds of gunfire in the distance keeping both Jesse and Zenyatta on guard.

 

Jesse was throwing a flashbang  before the enemies emerged from cover, stunning them long enough for Jesse to put them in the dirt.

 

More were coming, however, and Jesse was reloading, and in the precious few seconds that would take, he and Zen would take some hits. He noticed, vaguely, that Zenyatta’s many-armed compatriot had disappeared before-

 

_ “Experience tranquility,”  _ Zenyatta said, his voice reverberating through Jesse’s chest, making him pause. Zenyatta rose up a few feet more than was normal for his usual hover, a golden glow suffusing him, and extra arms appearing from his sides, glowing so fiercely it was difficult to look at.

 

The enemies who had rushed forth paused, seemingly entranced by the display, and as Jesse raised his gun, he noted that he had never in his life felt so  _ calm. _ He fanned the hammer, almost lazily, dropping the remaining enemies, and, like a light winking out of existence, Zenyatta stopped glowing, returning to his normal self, actually standing on his legs, which was rare and Jesse knew meant his power supplies were low.

 

“I didn’t know ya could do that, partner,” Jesse said mildly, noting that the many armed being that usually floated near Zenyatta was still absent.

 

“I...did not, either,” Zenyatta said slowly, and Jesse got the impression that if he were human, he’d be panting.

 

***

 

The final thing Jesse noticed that drove him out to a crossroads at midnight, was not actually a new thing, but rather, the absence of something.

 

Namely, Soba.

 

This time, Death was waiting for him when he arrived, dressed in a bespoke suit and already smoking a thick cigar that smelled faintly of the cold. He offered one to Jesse, which the man politely refused.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Death rumbled, and today his voice was deep and dry, like the creak of an old oak tree in a dark forest.

 

“Have you?” Jesse said mildly, clicking his metal fingers together to feel the rattle of it up his arm. “Then you must know somethin’ about what’s going on.”

 

“The Veil,” Death said slowly, taking a deep drag of his cigar that smelled of ice and old things. “The thing that keeps normal humans from seeing the supernatural, that keeps the old and ancient things from the supernatural away from one another….it’s fading. Not cracking, or breaking or being forced away, just...disappearing, like smoke.”

 

Jesse thought on that for a good long while, accepting a cigar when it was offered to him this time, and sitting heavily on the hood of a car.

 

“Does this have anything to do with the gift ya gave me?” Jesse asks at length, taking a deep drag of the cigar, feeling the cool smoke burn into his lungs.

 

“No,” Death says quietly. “I’ve been talking to my counterparts, Life, Sin, Sky and Sea,” he murmured softly, as though afraid to disturb the stillness of the night. “They’ve all said the same thing; the Veil is  _ fading,  _ as though whoever created it in the first place has dissolved the enchantment.”

 

“Someone  _ created  _ the Veil?” Jesse asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Of course,” Death said easily. “Long before I came around, of course, but the Veil wasn’t created with the universe; it came after, when it was decided the mundane and the arcane could not coexist peacefully.”

 

“So why’s it fadin’ now? What does that mean?”

 

Death shrugged, and in that moment, despite being an aeons-old, immortal and nearly omniscient being, he looked terribly, painfully young. 

 

“I imagine it means there will be fare more weres, magic users and other such realizing power they never had before.”

 

“Well,” Jesse said, thinking on Hanzo’s too-sharp teeth, and Zenyatta’s sudden abilities. “Fuck.”


End file.
